


double oh

by neville



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, F/M, James Bond AU, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, i'm kinda not sure what's going on, i'm not really sure what this is, implied future percy/audrey, there's a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 03:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neville/pseuds/neville
Summary: A James Bond AU in which Viktor is Bond and Percy is Q.//“You should learn to shoot,” Krum offers. “Relieve the tension.”“You are thesourceof my tension, Viktor.”





	double oh

**Author's Note:**

> full disclosure on a few things:  
> i haven't really proofed this so sorry for any mistakes, and  
> i don't know an awful lot about james bond
> 
> but i hope you enjoy anyway!!

“Don’t,” Percy says sharply, “be irresponsible this time, Krum. I rather prefer it that my things come back intact, as does the budget.” 

“The budget goes far,” Krum shrugs. His English has come on leaps and bounds since joining MI6, a combination of lunch lessons with Percy and rather more intimate-sounding evening lessons with Granger (though Percy supposes he ought not speculate), but his accent remains thick and a little gruff. “It won’t mind.” 

“I will,” Percy says. “And M will. And for the love of  _ fuck _ , Krum, do  _ not  _ piss off M again, because some of us get the blame while you’re off shooting people in Mexico.” He probably sounds tighter than he means too, but Percy is tired, and Krum has just appeared yet again to empty his shelves of inventions and destroy his best handiwork. He’s threatening to move, too, which is only worsening his mood. Fuck Cornelius Fudge and the state of British politics: he’ll be lucky if he still has a job by the end of the year and hasn’t defected to criminal engineering. He will be luckier still if any of the new team being brought in in the proposed merger will have heard of a  _ quartermaster _ . 

“You should learn to shoot,” Krum offers. “Relieve the tension.” 

“You are the  _ source  _ of my tension, Viktor.”

“I would rather not destroy your cars. But many other people do, and me in it.”

“Right. Yes. Just, please, try and require  _ minimal repairs _ .” 

Viktor grins, ruffling Percy’s hair, so in need of a haircut that it’s almost become a mullet. He’s been so busy trying to invent for this mission and fix up the car Viktor  _ absolutely trashed _ that he hasn’t had much time to think about anything else; it’s really his priority that he keeps the agents as equipped as possible, more so than his own appearance, and definitely more so than his sleep. 

“Minimal repairs,” Viktor promises. “I will try.” 

“Just don’t be an idiot.”

* * *

 

Percy does not get his car back. The last time he sees it is on CCTV footage in Germany, being blown up, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he watches, hissing at the loss of his well-loved handiwork. He delegates more work to the Aston Martin he’s been keeping in the basement, and flies to Austria with M. 

She doesn’t look pleased. Then again, she often doesn’t. Viktor jokes that it’s because she’s Scottish, which had made Percy almost belly laugh.

“He is an  _ idiot _ ,” she says, taking a rather long sip of the cocktail she’s drinking. It looks almost too colourful for her tastes, but Percy says nothing. He’s drinking orange juice. He oughtn’t judge. “How much trouble must one agent get into? Getting the eyes of an entire international crime organisation on us…” 

“With a very non-ominous name,” Percy adds.  _ Death Eaters.  _ Honestly. How dramatic does crime have to get? They’re just MI6. Percy has been musing on alternative names for the organisation, but hasn’t come up with anything so far; it would make him feel better, though, about the fact that the danger to their headquarters is so great that they’re having to disperse. Having him and M on the same plane is risk enough, but McGonagall refuses to be completely babied, and also refuses to lose Percy, who is possibly one of their most important assets. And one who misses his cats. 

“Criminals, Q, never miss an opportunity to fit a  _ memento mori _ in their name.” (McGonagall likes to pretend she doesn’t know Percy’s name, but really, she used to be his English teacher; he still remembers sitting at the front of her class:  _ at once a voice arose among / the bleak twigs overhead / in a full-hearted evensong / of joy illimited _ … He clicks his tongue. “You are aware of why we’re going to Austria, aren’t you?”

Percy, as much as he sometimes wishes he could be, is not stupid. “You want to retrieve Krum.” 

“He’s an idiot. He’ll get us into even more shit. We need him back.”

Percy just cannot get over the sound of authority figures swearing, and flinches involuntarily. “And you insisted on having me on this flight  _ just _ because you wanted to protect me.” 

McGonagall smiles. “I may be getting on a little bit, Q, but I  _ do _ remember the look of a boy in love.” She taps the side of her nose. “He’ll come back for you.”

“Are you suggesting he fancies me?” 

“Don’t be  _ stupid _ . Of course he does.” 

“I am not being stupid. I am a little man with glasses who builds grenade pens for his amusement; he is a man who gets to fuck as many women as he wants on whatever exciting mission he gets to do, always involving very apparently sexy revolvers. Why on Earth would he fancy me?”

“Perhaps because you aren’t just part of a fleeting mission.” 

“No. But I  _ am _ a fleeting part of an organisation. How many Qs and Ms have there been before us? And how many will there be after?”

M sighs.

* * *

 

Percy has never been to Austria before. Unfortunately, he is not here to see the sights: he settles in a hotel room and is to await further orders. He doesn’t wait in the room, of course. He loads a pistol that he hopes not to use, tucks it away and under the cover of his blazer, and leaves to find a coffee shop. 

There are plenty tourist trap coffee shops with laminated menus in multiple languages, but Percy opts for a minimally decorated and earthy shop that make him a hot chocolate that tastes like liquid heaven. He picks a busy enough one to make it a hassle trying to take him out, though. He, unlike field agents, has a sense of danger. 

And also entirely unlike field agents, Percy has terrible perception. 

“M has come for me,” Krum says, taking a seat on the stool at the other side of Percy’s table. “I’m sorry about the car. It was nice.” 

“I’m glad you survived,” Percy says, “even if the car didn’t. You can tell M why the budget requires another fully customised automobile. Maybe you can even try and argue for a Rolls Royce this time.” He takes another sip of his chocolate, and regards Viktor carefully, perfectly poised on the distinctly too-small stool. “I get the distinct feeling that you don’t want to come back with us.” 

“I have found,” Viktor says, leaning forwards. “A - what do you call it, you English speakers, a road, a path - a trail. I wish to follow it.”

“At what cost?” Percy asks, pursing his lips. “Your life instead of the car’s? MI6? Fudge is already looking to have us departmentalised.” He pauses as a waitress delivers a piping hot cup of coffee to their table. “You can do what you want, but - I would really appreciate it if you came back alive, and if M hadn’t bludgeoned me before then. She isn’t happy.”

“I know. She brought you.”

“I brought myself to shout at you about that bloody car.” 

“As if.” 

Percy has never been that good a liar, and he shifts back in his chair. He knows that Krum has figured it all out. Krum has been doing this a long time, and he’s the best for a reason. Percy is still considered the  _ new _ quartermaster, a year into his tenure. Viktor may like him, but he’s not so sure many of the other agents do, yet. He rubs his temples.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t be an idiot.” 

Viktor smiles. “No promises.”

“I’m not going to ask for my technology back. For the love of fuck, use those exploding pens if it means keeping you safe. Just -  _ you _ come the fuck back, Krum. God knows we’re not going to manage without you. They’ll shut us down if you don’t come back.” 

Percy watches Viktor go, and watches with a twinge of regret. 

* * *

 

Percy stays in Austria a while, visiting the galleries and museums and hoping he doesn’t get shot in the back walking back from dinner. M is not happy with his avoidance of duties, but doesn’t complain too much save to make sure he’s sending orders back. Percy spends a good deal of his evenings drawing blueprints, too: for cars, gadgets, tiny phones. He goes back to that coffee shop a few times, waits for Viktor. 

Of course, Viktor just breaks into his hotel room and finds a gun pointed to his head. Percy has never shot anyone before, but he has incredibly steady hands, a symbol of his status as inventor. 

“I survive all this, and you’d shoot me?” Viktor asks, feigning offence. 

“Fuck you,” Percy sighs. “Learn to knock.” 

“It seemed urgent.” 

“What’s urgent?” Percy asks, and Viktor smiles, touching his cheeks. Percy’s heart falters in his chest, and his lips part like the seven seas when Viktor kisses them. 

This can only mean that  _ this is it _ . 

* * *

 

MI6 being allowed to remain as is unfortunately does not mean that Percy can move out of his underground bunker yet. Pissed off, he installs some ten thousand lux lights in the place that doesn’t half sink into the budget, and spends the next several months gearing up for the replacement 007. The process of replacement is a long one, he is told: the other 00s field the work, and he builds a whole new kit for someone whose status is entirely uncertain. 

He is given adept warning and an arrival time for the new and apparently fairly awestruck 00, and doubles down on his efforts. He retrieves the Aston Martin from the sub-levels of the bunker, and adds so many features he thinks his hands are going to fall off by the time he’s done. He doesn’t usually do much of the manual work himself anymore, but this time, he insists. He wraps his fingers in bandages before the new agent arrives, hiding his callouses. He doesn’t think he should wear them with pride, unlike his brother in demolitions. 

He’s a little surprised when the new 007 turns out to be a woman: not, of course, because she’s a woman - plenty of the others are - but because of her stature, short and a little stocky. He’s fairly sure he could knock her out, but wouldn’t try: her appearance obviously belies her true abilities. Her hair is buzzed short, and blonde. 

“You must be Q,” she says, holding out her hand. “007.” 

“Yes,” he says, shaking her hand. She almost breaks his knuckles. Percy feels as if this is a statement, but one that will go amiss, considering the amount of gadgets he has ready for her. “Do you have a name, or are you just a sequence of numbers?” 

She smiles wirily. “Audrey. What about you? I’m guessing you’re not a one-letter mononym.” 

“No,” he says. “I’m Percy. But it’d do you well to call me Q. It sounds better.” 

“It does,” she admits, following him as he walks through the base. 

“Now,” he says. “Ground rules. Listen to what I tell you. Bring things back  _ in one piece _ , not  _ as one piece _ . And, for the love of fuck, if you’re going to ignore those other two:  _ don’t be an idiot _ .” 

He gets the distinctive sense that he hasn’t followed his own advice very well. But Audrey doesn’t seem to mind.


End file.
